


you're tough and riding rough

by kuro49



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Gotham City Garage (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gotham City Garage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 07:30:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13565781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: Even if he doesn’t quite remember the world before the seas evaporated and the cities burned, he still stops every time he sees red.





	you're tough and riding rough

**Author's Note:**

> i am stupidly into nightwing’s design in gotham city garage, and it breaks my heart a lot to say this but Jason takes a little bit of a backseat in this story.

 

He is not under any kind of delusion when he defected that he will be running for the rest of his life outside of Lex’s immediate control. It Is picking the lesser of two evils, Dick thinks, when he decides on bad instead of worse. Sheds Robin and takes on Nightwing, leaves the Garden in the dead of night and heads as deep into the Freescape as a full tank of gas will take him. He travels fast, he travels rough.

He travels miles and miles on instincts alone.

For what it's worth, Dick Grayson gets pretty far too.

 

The Freescape is unforgiving. He has seen enough of it to know exactly what it holds in its sandy stretch and canyons of death. He has also seen the inside of the Garden and worked under the Bat long enough to know having nothing out here is better than having anything in there.

Because the Freescape is just that. It is a good thing he is not looking to be forgiven.

 

Jason doesn’t say anything about it.

He figures it is not his place (not the first, second, third, or fourth time the man breaks into in his club in the middle of the night, falls into his bed, kisses bruises up his neck in a carefully meticulously planned trail that will have Jason wearing his gear zipped up all the way to his throat for the next two days just to have the cycle start afresh). So, when he steps out of his narrow excuse of a shower, hair still dripping, he has no idea why he lets it slip this time of all the times they have both let this drag on.

“You’re a coward.”

Dick is as dressed as Dick gets. Electric batons at his hips, bare skin with a black leather jacket haphazardly thrown on top and Jason can see how those blue eyes narrow at that.

“Takes one to know one, Jason.”

Jason doesn’t scoff, and for someone as quick to get rile up as Jason Todd has a tendency to, he figures it isn’t entirely pity if he can be honest with Dick and not himself. And if they can both be a little bit honest, even Dick can admit to this because he is a runner, not a coward _._ But the choice of the latter stings more and what are the two of them if they are pulling their punches?

Dick Grayson is an exception because of fucking course he would be.  

Instead of lying, Jason tells a fraction of the truth.

“I don’t run like you do. I like my place here with the Hoods.”

“I don’t need something like that.” Dick says, easy, slipping on one glove then the next, but the way he flexes his fingers, he looks like he could take a mean swing at the slightest motion. With Jason in such close proximity, there really isn’t much room for imagination who would be target if it comes to blows. “I outran Lex, I outran the Bat, I can outrun whatever comes next.”

A quick upturn of his mouth and Dick is smiling brightly, brilliantly like sunshine that scorches the earth. Jason doesn’t say a thing at that and Dick leaves before the rest of the Hoods can even stir in their bunks.

Jason Todd is not a home for him, no matter how many times he comes back to him.

 

Even if he doesn’t quite remember the world before the seas evaporated and the cities burned, he still stops every time he sees red.

The first time he sees red, he sees him too.

He is Jason Todd (before he comes to take over the Red Hoods M.C.) when he still looked like a stray mixed into the wrong crowd rather than the head of the pack. Dick is at a perfect distance to have them pass him by without any kind of trouble, the engine on his bike running quiet enough to not draw the Hoods' attention to a lone rider just far enough from any kind of alliance.

Nobody does so much as glance in his direction but the kid is staring and Dick has always been easy with attention of this kind. He smiles, he waves, and lets the kid on the flashy red bike look his fill before taking off in the other direction.

 

There is a past he remembers (the Bat) and one he does not (the Flying Graysons).

He bypasses the canyon, goes into the Black Grove, and walks out with a demon across his chest.

He isn't looking to forget and he isn't looking to remember but he might be looking for something even if he might never find it. He dresses like he has nothing to be afraid of when there is fear literally contorted and carved into his skin. He thinks the tattoo says a lot about him, he thinks it says not a thing about him.

He is settling into Nightwing just fine though.

 

(“What is that supposed to be, Grayson?"

He asks, he points, and he reaches out to _touch_.

"Ivy did a damn fine job on your portrait, didn’t she?")

 

Truth is, if he cares enough to slow down and admit it to himself, he can outrun this too. Here is the problem, he has no intentions of doing that.

With the Bat, he rips the band aid off in one quick motion, quick enough for the pain to hit long after he is gone. But here, with Jason, he hesitates and it fucking hurts.

 

(“What are you afraid of?”

“You.” He says and he is not shaking but he is close. “And I’m not just afraid, I’m fucking terrified, Jason.”)

 

Dick can hear Lois Lane’s voice crackling over a bad connection, radio turned down low from behind the bar. Sitting in his usual booth in the Gotham City Garage, he refuses to admit to hiding in plain sight even if he is nursing an empty glass.

Tipped back and downed in one overzealous attempt at distraction, GCG’s specialty moonshine goes down burning to the gut. He is hardly tipsy, far from drunk, but this kind of alcohol affects him very differently, leaves him with a flush that goes from his throat to the start of his chest.

When the door opens, he hears the safety being pulled back from Natasha Irons’ shotgun before he actually sees red.

The standstill feels long even if it is probably seconds. Natasha doesn’t say a thing, just fixes the leader of Red Hood standing at the entrance with a warning. Nobody needs to go looking to know her finger is millimeters from squeezing down completely on the trigger.

Out here in the Freescape, it is always better to be safe than sorry and there are very little situations that have proven otherwise.

“I’m here for him.”

Jason’s statement is as plain as day like he isn’t standing in the middle of enemy territory. He is not unarmed but his palms are turned upwards, and that is an offering of peace if it has ever came from a man like Jason Todd.

“Well, Robin,” Natasha turns to him, the barrels of her shotgun still trained on Todd and when her mouth twists into a grin, all her teeth are bared at him, “I think your ride is here.”

“Seems like I’ve outstayed my welcome.” Dick mutters, laughing shortly as he sits up, gets up, and pats invisible dust from his clothes, taking that time to push down the instinctual need to correct that pet name. He wanders from alliance to alliance, he can only afford to make so many enemies. It pays to stay diplomatic. “Thanks for the drinks, Irons.”

“Get him out of my garage, Grayson.”

He complies without another word because when the ladies of the GCG ask, they aren’t really asking when there is not a sliver of room for anything else. The doors to the garage close behind them and it is the cool night air that hits Dick first before the finality of this moment does.

“You could have closed your eyes, pointed in a direction, and _rode_.” Jason bites out like he understands but doesn’t, wants to but cannot. “I would’ve had a harder time finding you than showing up here.”

Dick runs a hand through his hair, his eyes already turning to his bike. He craves another drink, something stronger, something ridiculously fruity, or really, just anything to mellow out the edges of running for so long.

“I’ve always been better at running than hiding.”

“You’re not doing either right now.”

Jason reaches out, slow, wraps his fingers around Dick’s wrist even though he is itching for a smoke.

“Yeah, I know.” Dick has no idea what kind of comfort he is seeking for out here in the Freescape but here he is, not quite admitting to the truth. He feels touch-starved. Jason’s hand around his wrist stays. “Don’t remind me.”

Jason laughs, and for once, it is not a cruel sound. Dick looks at him and he can’t help but smile, something reluctant in return  because they both know he can outride him if he wants but he doesn’t, it still feels gravitational.

 

(“What would your boys think?”

“Do you really think my walls are sound proof enough that they don’t already know?”

They are more than well-versed in what their leader gets up to in the middle of the night, this is why nobody has yet to run in, guns blazing when the club is broken into from the second story window for a third night in a row.)

 

You outlive one war to see the next one.

You outrun one brat on a flashy red bike to end up here.

Dick Grayson turned Robin turned Nightwing has a full tank in his ride, a pair of electric batons, and a very specific set of skills. The Freescape is an empty stretch of bad crowds until you find one to call them a pack of your own, and really, it isn’t so bad at all.

After all, it really could be much worse.

 

 

He knows he has been meaning to ask but between one thing and the next, well.

"She called you Robin."

"I’m called a lot of things."

“Let me call you something too.”

“Jaybird, you can call me anything.”

 

( _I’ll come running_ , he doesn’t need to say it out loud to mean it.)

 


End file.
